


Said the Spider to the Fly

by spikesgirl58



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Someone is killing the millionaires of Gotham and they are all going out with a smile on their faces.  yet, The Joker is locked up safe and sound and Batman fears a copycat, especially since Bruce Wayne is next on the list.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Said the Spider to the Fly

PROLOGUE

"An itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout,” he softly half sung, smiling in upon the contents of the plastic container.

"Down came the rain and washed the spider out," he continuing, giving the jar a shake or two. It was enough to rile the contents to a writhing mass. He set the jar down and began to work on the burglar alarm system - a simple thing that a child of two must have devised. It amazed him what rich people put their faith in

"Out came the sun and dried up all the rain," he whispered, lifting his arms above his head in a half arch in representation of the sun. For their parts, his associates were unimpressed with the quavering falsetto.

"And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again." Purple-gloved fingers struggled with the lid for a moment before getting it loose. Inside, dozens of spiders crawled over each other, fighting their own private battle towards freedom. He nodded, pleased with how the task was going so far. He cracked open a window and began to shake the jar, encouraging the insects out. A small spider lagged behind and he regarded it for a moment before bringing a gloved finger down to squash its life from it.

"Can't have any weaklings in this game, my friend," he apologized as he wiped the finger against the wall of the house. "This is a game for the strong and the worthy... like me and," he paused, the mere thought of the word brought distaste to his mouth. "The Bat guy."

Unhurriedly, he gathered his equipment back up and went to wait for the return of the house's occupants. It was going to be a good night, he could feel it in his bones. Of course, considering how many of them had been broken, it could just be a change in the weather too. He hoped so - this heat was killing him. Killing him? What a joke!

A middle-aged woman sat before her vanity, piling her dyed hair up onto her head for a moment before letting it drop back to her shoulders.

"Wonderful soiree at Wayne's tonight, wasn't it," called her husband from his bathroom. "One thing he knows how to do is throw a party." The man emerged, buttoning up his pajama top.

"Except for having the host vanish halfway through, it was delightful." His wife smiled faintly at him before returning to her mirror. "I remember when we were that young."

"We still are," her husband murmured, coming up behind her to caress her shoulders.

"That's what you think." The woman returned to her toilet, peeling off first one false eyelash, then the other. "After watching the parade of flesh at that party tonight, I'm feeling very old indeed. I never saw so many beautiful women."

"Well, Bruce is still young and still single..."

"And still very, very rich..."

"And by my reckoning, that makes him the most eligible man in Gotham, probably on the East Coast," Winston Hollister said with a smile, his hands still on his wife's shoulders, watching her go through her nightly ritual for a moment before giving her a hug and climbing into bed. He picked up a stockholder's report for Wayne Technologies and idly flipped through the pages.

During a takeover attempt last spring, stocks in the company had plunged to a record low and Winston Hollister knew a good thing when he saw it. He began to buy Wayne Technology stock, a lot of people did. They, like he, were no fools - they knew the company would make a comeback, even when it was rumored that Wayne was broke, unable to meet payments on half a dozen of his pet projects. Hollister wasn't worried, for he knew Wayne, though young, was too cunning a business man for that. So, instead of selling, Hollister bought and bought big, becoming one of the largest stockholders in the newly restructured Wayne Technologies. If it was any consultation, he was going to die a wealthy man, not as wealthy as Wayne, but not too far behind.

Holding that thought, Hollister started to read, leaving his wife to her one-on-one battle with aging. He'd given up on his fight years ago and just let time take its toll. He tried to focus on the columns of words and numbers, but his eyes didn't want to cooperate. He didn't know why, he'd only had six or seven glasses of champagne, plus wine with dinner. He must be getting old.

His wife's scream brought him to a waking reality and he sat up, vainly trying to keep his head from exploding.

"What is it, Milly," he asked, heroically leaping from the bed, or at least trying to. The bedclothes tangled around his ankles and nearly sent him head first into a bedside table. At the last moment, he caught himself and managed to stay upright.

"That!" Millie was pointing at the bed and Winston followed the point, his attention finally resting on a pair of the biggest Daddy Long Legs he'd ever seen. For their part, they seemed undeterred by the commotion they had caused and slowly continued their trek up the flowered sheets of the bed.

"For Pete's sake, Milly, they're only Daddy Long Legs."

"I don't care! They're spiders, aren't they?"

He was well aware of his wife's arachnophobia and nodded sympathetically, trying not to laugh at the comic sight they must be making. "Yes, honey, they are and I'll get rid of them for you."

He scooped the pair up in his hands and carried them to the window. He was about to drop them into the warm summer air when a stab of pain made him jerk his hand and the spiders tumbled freely out into the night.

He swore for a moment and strode over to the light to examine the hand.

"What's wrong, honey," Millie asked, rising, her face concerned.

"One of those bastards bit me," Winston muttered, holding the hand closer to the light. Already a bright red spot had begun to swell, it already seem overly painful. He squeezed the spot, frowning at the pinpoint of blood that resulted. "It broke the skin."

"I'm sure you'll live." Millie reached for the hand and kissed the spot gently. She gathered the bedclothes and pulled them into place. "Now, come to bed so I can turn out the light."

Winston shook the hand and walked back over to his side of the king-size bed. He sat down and the lights went off. The spider bite was already beginning to throb and he knew he wouldn't be doing getting to sleep any time soon. That warm lazy feeling he'd had just a few moments ago had vanished with the first prick of pain.

Resigned, he gathered up the report and his glasses and moved to the den. For her part, Millie was already sleeping. Had he lingered for just a moment, turning the light on, however, he would have noticed that two more Daddy Long Legs had climbed up on the bed and several other loitered on the floor near his wife's side of the bed. But he didn't. All he could think about was his stocks, his sore hand and the unfairness of having to grow old. And they were the last thoughts on his mind when he died an hour later.

CHAPTER ONE

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon mopped the sweat from his brow and glanced at his watch. It was three a.m. and the heat from the day was just starting to wan. Another few hours and the mercury would start its climb back into the triple digits. This was the hottest summer he could remember Gotham ever suffering through and he wondered why the criminals never seemed to be bothered by the heat. No matter what happened, crime continued on. Take the scene before him, for example.

Mr. and Mrs. Winston Hollister, he'd seen them just a few hours ago, at the party of Bruce Wayne's. They were alive, happy and obviously very much in love.

Gordon looked down at Hollister as he sprawled out in the easy chair, his eyes balefully looking out upon a world he'd never again be part of, a stock report dropped to the floor, forever now abandoned. With a sigh, Gordon reached out and closed the man's eyelids, being careful to avoid the grin that threatened to split the man's face in two. 'He' was not going to like this, although Gordon wasn't so sure there was anything 'he' did like, not really.

A white-coated man stepped from the bedroom, where he'd been examining the body of Mrs. Hollister. For her part, she seemed to died more peacefully...if you, once again, overlooked the wide smile on her face.

"Did you find anything?" Gordon asked, hopeful.

"No, just an insect bite or two, which is nothing unusual this summer," the examiner murmured, scratching one of his own mosquito bites. "Won't really be able to tell anything until we do an autopsy on them."

"I'll contact the family for permission,” Gordon said, again wiping sweat from his face and looking out of the window. As much as he'd like to handle this one himself, he could already tell that it was going to be out of his hands.

Two uniformed policemen entered the room, their shirts stained black with sweat. They were talking and joking until they saw the Commissioner and they immediately sobered.

"We checked out the whole house, like you asked, commissioner. Nothing was taken that we can tell. Jewelry, silver, even Mr. Hollister's coin collection is still here." The older of the pair shrugged his shoulders. "It doesn't make sense."

"I'm afraid it makes too much sense," Gordon sighed long and hard. "Let's go back to the station." As he turned to leave, he overheard one policeman mutter to the other.

"You owe me ten bucks. I told you he'd call him."

Somehow that made Gordon feel weak and incapable, but it also gave him a warm, reassuring feeling in the pit of his stomach. At least now there was somewhere else to turn.

Bruce Wayne looked down at the fallen bodies of his parents, his heart threatening to break through his chest. The killer was gone, disappearing back into the shadows that he'd appeared from. A crowd had already started to form, the onlookers not sure what exactly to do with him.

A slender woman broke from the crowd and knelt before him, stroking the tears from his eyes with a gentle hand. Bruce hopelessly looked at her, uncertain, heartbroken. Then she softly murmured,

"You killed them, Bruce, just as certain as if you'd pulled the trigger."

"But I'm just a little boy," Bruce protested, taking a step from the woman.

"You wanted to come to this movie, didn't you? It's your fault, Bruce, you killed them. You're not a little boy, Bruce, you're a bat out of hell." The woman's face changed before his eyes into that of a grinning skull and Bruce could take it no more.

"NO!"

Bruce Wayne sat up in bed, unable to hear anything except his blood pounding in his ears. For a long moment, he remained motionless, gradually reclaiming control over his breathing, heartbeat and trembling limbs. That had certainly been a new twist to an old nightmare, he decided, tossing the sweat-soaked sheets aside and standing. How many times had he had that dream before? Nearly once a night for years, but it had never been anything but a replay of the murder. Perhaps his subconscious thought it needed some new angle to prey upon his already battered psyche, or maybe it was just a bad reaction to the wine or food he'd had tonight or maybe it was only the heat.

Bruce sighed and listened to the large room. Save for the ticking of a clock and his own breathing, there was silence in the manor. Alfred and the rest of the servants wouldn't be up for hours. That was fine with Bruce; it gave him some time alone to think and try to interpret the dream.

He reached for his robe and pulled it on, knotting it loosely about his waist. It was really too hot to wear anything, but old habits died hard. Then he walked to the window, looking out into the early hours of the morning. Years of insomnia had given him a chance to learn to appreciate the hours of the night, the hidden beauty, the healing darkness. It also permitted him something else, he thought, as he watched the bat signal reflect against the low clouds over Gotham. It allowed him to do a job that no one else could or would. He turned and walked towards the back on the room. There, hidden away from anyone else, a panel waited for his touch before sliding back to permit him entrance into his 'other world'.

Unfortunately, the batsuit was not designed for heat waves and you couldn't drive the Batmobile with its top down, nor would Bruce be inclined to. He drove the black vehicle down the country road and contemplated possibly installing an air conditioner in the car. It certainly wouldn't behoove him to suffer a heatstroke, not the Batman.

He pulled up a few blocks from police headquarters and climbed from the car. He murmured a soft, "Shields up" and walked away from the Batmobile even as it was ensconcing itself behind heavy steel plates. A few feet away, he looked up and removed a small gun from his belt. Aiming carefully, he fired and waited for the bat-shaped hook on the end to firmly implant itself. That accomplished, he grabbed the cord that was attached to hook and started to climb.

Gordon and his men were scanning the skies, waiting, watching the clouds for a hint of his arrival. No matter how many times they called him, they always insisted upon watching the dark Gotham sky for him, as if he could really dropped out of the heavens for them.

_Hardly heaven bred,_ Batman thought as he landed softly on the roof and began to walk towards Gordon, the noise from the traffic below hiding the soft 'crunch' of his footsteps until he was practically within reaching distance of his friend.

"You called for me," Batman murmured, his voice just above a hoarse whisper. It had taken him hours of coaching by Alfred, a trained actor, to learn to totally alter his voice patterns - one more necessary task to complete in his quest to becoming the Batman.

Gordon spun, dropping his cigarette in the process. Deliberately, the toe of a black, steel-reinforced boot reached out and ground it into the tarpaper.

"You shouldn't smoke, Jim, it's bad for your health."

"So is sneaking up on a man. You and the Surgeon General working together?" Gordon muttered, angry at being caught off-guard...again. He reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then thought better of it. It wouldn't do to make Batman angry, not now, not when they had work to do.

Batman listened impassively to Gordon's rendition of the night's events, his emotions as masked as his face.

"I'll meet you there," was his only comment. Gordon nodded and watched as the man leapt off the side of the building. One of the policemen ran to the edge to look over into the dark night.

"He's gone, totally gone," whispered the cop, obviously impressed. For some reason, Gordon wasn't surprised.

Nor was he surprised that Batman beat them to the abode of the late Mr. and Mrs. Hollister. They came in to find him examining the carpet of the living room. He looked up silently as they entered, then returned to his task.

"Is anything missing?" came the barely-audible voice and the commissioner shook his head.

"Not that we can tell. Coins, jewelry, silver, all right where it should be."

"What about his stocks?"

Gordon looked back over his shoulder at one of the two men who accompanied him. The man shrugged and Gordon turned back. "Why do you ask?"

"Mr. Hollister was reading a Wayne Technologies stock report, therefore, he had to be a stockholder in the company," Batman said, keeping a lecturing tone and anger from his voice. It had been just hours earlier that Hollister had backed him as Bruce Wayne into a corner, trying to talk him into meeting his niece and Mrs. Hollister, complaining that Bruce was too thin, too pale, had invited him to a 'home-cooked' meal. For them to become

Joker's victims was nearly more than he could bear. Someday, he would come face-to-face with the man and not be able to keep from killing him.

Gordon murmured something to the two men and they hurried off, apparently to search the house again.

"When was the Joker released from Arkham?" Batman asked standing and studying his old friend.

"He isn't. That was the first thing I checked after seeing the bodies. Dr. Borders insists that the Joker is right where we left him."

"Impossible," Batman muttered. "It's either an imposter behind bars or a copycat killer."

"Just what we need." The thoughts of a second killer like the Joker was too much for Gordon and he mopped the sweat from his face with a soggy handkerchief, amazed that not a drop of perspiration showed on the Batman's face. How did he keep from sweating?

For his part, Batman wasn't saying a thing, he was too busy concentrating on keeping his mind off his discomfort at the heat. He stood and walked to the bedroom, slowly scanning the area, using as little energy as possible. He dropped to his knee at the bedside and pulled the sheet from the dead woman's face before dropping his head. For a moment, it looked like he was praying and Gordon watched the dark figure carefully. Just as Gordon was about to speak, the cowled head came up and gloved fingers held something.

"What do you have there?" Gordon couldn't keep the curiosity from his voice. His men had been over the room three times and come up empty handed. Either they were getting lax and unobservant or too dependent upon the Batman to find things. Neither possibility was to Gordon's liking.

"It would appear to be an arachnid. It was crushed beneath Mrs. Hollister's shoulder."

"She died of a spider bite?" Gordon asked, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Batman or not, he needed a smoke.

Batman placed the crushed mass of legs in the palm of his other glove and held it beneath the light. "No, not a spider, an arachnid. Spider are members of the arachnid family, but not all arachnids are spiders. This would appear to be a harvestman or a Daddy Long Legs. They are harmless." He poked the bug with a finger, ignoring Gordon as he lit up. "Have you cleared the bodies for autopsies?"

Bodies, he sounded so business-like and professional. What would Gordon say if he knew it was all Batman could do to keep from crying?

"We've contacted the family, but haven't received a response yet. We like to give them a little time to adjust to their loss. Why the Hollisters? They were such good people."

"Who knows what motivates killers?" Batman murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else, still studying the immediate area around the bed closely, his lips pursing into a thin line when he found three more dead Daddy Long Legs. He couldn't remember seeing so many of these within the same area, surely it couldn't be a coincident...could it? "I've studied them all my life and still can't understand them." He dug a small vial from his utility belt and scooped the remains of the arachnids into it. He'd have to study them later in his lab. Right now he had another stop to make - Arkham Asylum.

The Batmobile pulled up in front to the tall, black iron fence and stopped smoothly, its engine dropping to a soft purr. The gate opened as the guard abruptly realized who was asking for entrance to Arkham. The Batman was refused very little these days. The Batmobile continued on at his urging.

He climbed from the car and looked around briefly before continuing on. Entering Arkham always gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he belonged here just as much as any of the other inmates; that is was the narrowest of lines he walked in his crusade.

Apparently, the guard had called ahead for Dr. Borders met him at the door, his hands folded defensively across his chest, blocking his entrance into the asylum. He was about the same size as Batman, but there wasn't much muscle on his frame. And somehow, he saw himself a viable threat to the Batman.

"Hello, Mr. Batman. What do you want," Borders asked, his tone firm, as though he was trying to convince himself as well of Batman as to who was in charge.

"Him. I want him."

"He's sleeping. I can't have you disturbing my patients."

"He was disturbed before he got here, Doctor. Kindly do not make me use force. You know I will if I have to."

Borders thought about that for a moment, then reluctantly stepped aside. Batman brushed by him, his cape swirling in his trail. Borders followed close behind, too close for Batman's taste, but that couldn't be helped.

Batman walked by cells, doing his best to ignore the screams, the shrieks, the taunts, never looking to the left or right for fear of seeing one of his past enemies, or perhaps it was the fear of seeing himself in one of those cells. There were nights when he wasn't so sure. In any event, he walked on, finally reaching the maximum security wing. Here the most violent, the most capable of escape were placed. And in a special cell sat the Joker.

Or laid actually. A shock of mussed green hair stuck from beneath the gray wool blanket, the body below it cramped into a fetal position. An obvious decoy, the Joker had escaped, Batman was sure of it now.

"Open the door," Batman ordered.

"I can't allow..."

"Open the door, Doctor, or I shall break it down using you." It was not a threat, but a statement of fact and it was apparent that Borders saw the promise of delivery in the gray-blue eyes that looked from behind the mask. With a slightly trembling hand, he reached into the pocket of his white coat and brought out a key ring. It took him a long moment to fit the appropriate key into the lock and Batman could wait no more.

He swung the doctor and the door aside and marched into the cell. He was beside the bed in three massive strides and stood glowering down at his enemy, an enemy that had marked both him and his life forever.

A black glove reached out for the blanket and the head moved, sluggishly, and two hazel eyes looked from behind sleep-laded eyelids for a moment. Then the eyes snapped open and the Joker sat up, clutching his blanket to his chin.

"What're you doing here? Isn't it bad enough you haunt my dreams? Do you have to show up in my own room?" The Joker huddled back against the wall, blankets and sheets gathered about him protectively. "Dr. Borders, I thought this was a private room. Or has Bats finally gone bats?"

"Where were you tonight?" Batman demanded, realizing the question was weak at best.

"Where the hell do you think I was? Right here, right where you leave you me, you black-cloaked son of a bitch! Sucking on my Thorazine and staring at the tube, just like every night, you gruesome..."

"That's enough," Borders ordered, grabbing Batman's arm and pulling him away. "I think you've seen and heard more than you need, mister. Get out."

After a breathless moment, Batman spun and walked from the room, Dr. Borders following in his wake.

CHAPTER TWO

The Joker leaned back in bed and smiled...well, smiling, in his case, was a given. He didn't have much choice these days, not since he'd be Bat-tized. Still it had been close. If his bedclothes had slipped, or if Bats had been more impulsive and yanked them off, it would have been revealed that the Joker was fully clothed, his shoes dirty from his evening's work. Thank God that Borders had stopped him when he had, not that Borders had much of a choice either.

The Joker stretched out and yawned. _What a perfect hideout,_ he thought to himself as he toed off his shoes and kicked them out of the bed. His socks followed and then his pants. Finally, he struggled out of his jacket and shirt, and settled in. The evening had been just too perfect for words, he'd participated in a senseless crime, and he’d stolen a worthless booty and, for the first time, seen indecision in the eyes of his sworn enemy. Yes, the Joker thought as he looked out at the first pink-purple traces of dawn in the eastern sky, it had been a spectacular night.

Spectacular was not the word Batman had in mind. He sat behind the wheel of the parked Batmobile and fought to control the rage and futility that welled up inside him and stung his eyes with tears. He known the Hollisters for years, had dined with them on countless occasions. They were such good people. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and tasted the saltiness of his tears as they mingled with the sweat on his face. He sat there for a long time, giving into the sorrow that swell up in his stomach and let the tears come.

Spent by the unaccustomed emotions, Batman leaned back in the seat and watched as the sky began to lighten, to welcome the new day - time for him to hide in the shadows. Exhausted, too tired to even make the effort of driving himself, he simply murmured, "Home" and the Batmobile sprang to life, engine revving as the guidance computer with its electronic heart charted out the faster way back to the Batcave. It calculated it in an instant, gears engaged and the car pulled out, leaving nothing in its wake save a streak of rubber on the road.

Alfred Pennyworth yawned as he carried a tray down the narrow stone stairs. This heat wave was certainly making it difficult to function, even within the high-ceilinged rooms of Wayne Manor. Only the Batcave was cool these days and Alfred found himself spending more time than usual down within the cavern. He'd even caught himself talking to the endemic dwellers of the cave.

A sensor flicked on, announcing the arrival of the Batmobile moments before the roar of the car's engine began to echo against the rock walls. Alfred walked leisurely to a work table and set the tray down. He lifted the lid to recheck the tray's items, making sure there was a sufficient amount of sugar, that the toast points were just right, things that a gentleman's gentleman was responsible for.

Satisfied, he watched over the railing as the Batmobile drove up and stopped, inches from the edge of a hundred foot drop off. If the car ever failed to stop, Alfred repressed a shudder at the thought.

The canopy slid back and the black-clad figure slowly emerged, looking small and not terribly frightening from Alfred's viewpoint. Still, it wasn't Alfred who was supposed to be afraid, but the villains and scum that his master associated with. Alfred had no doubts they found the figure ominous indeed.

Alfred carefully climbed down another flight of stairs and stopped before a large, steel reinforced vault. Why the master insisted upon keeping his suit in there was beyond him, but then much of what went on in the bat cave was. He picked up a robe and draped over his arm.

Wearily, Batman swung the cape off his shoulders and handed it silently to his friend and confident. It took another moment to pull the cowl free and the sudden rush of cool air against his sweat-drenched hair made Bruce involuntarily shudder. If Alfred noticed his flushed, tear-streaked face, he thankfully refused to comment upon it.

Boots and gloves followed, then the utility belt, the chest plate, and the leg and arm protectors. Finally divested of the confines of the batsuit, Bruce sighed and stood naked save his shorts in the cave air, letting the cold and dampness bring goosebumps to his skin. Then he ran a hand through his short-cropped sweat-damp hair before shouldering back into the robe Alfred held out to him.

"I have prepared a light breakfast for you, sir, in view of last evening." Alfred's way of gently hinting that Bruce might have partaken of just a bit too much wine or food last evening.

Bruce passed the man without comment and began to climb the metal stairs to the main computer. Once there, he slumped down into the chair and stared at the blank screen. Alfred, used to Wayne's mood swings, began to put the batsuit away, fitting each piece carefully into its spot within the vault. That accomplished, he joined Wayne and uncovered the tray and poured a cup of coffee.

"The Hollisters are dead, Alfred."

The comment was made so quietly, so evenly that Alfred would have chalked it up to a practical joke, except he knew Wayne was not the joking type. In fact, looking back upon it, it seemed to Alfred that Bruce Wayne lost his sense of humor the same night as his parents.

"The Hollisters are dead," Bruce repeated, taking a deep breath. "And he's responsible."

"Who, sir?" Alfred paused in his spooning of sugar into the cup.

"The Joker," came the bitter answer as a fist smashed against a table top. "Why didn't I kill him when I had the chance? It would have been so easy, so justifiable." With a vicious gesture, Bruce snatched up a tissue and began to wipe at the black grease paint around his eyes.

"Not to you, sir, and certainly not to the Batman." Alfred held out the cup and Bruce looked over at him, a smile briefly playing across his lips, dark eyes regarding the butler for a moment. Then, Bruce took the cup and began to sip the coffee as Alfred continued to talk. "I shall make the proper arrangements, sir." The butler was careful to keep any emotions he was feeling hidden away. In that respect, he was very much like his employer.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce murmured. He leaned forward and turned on the computer. One handed, he typed in a few commands and sat back as names began to scroll across the screen.

"Might I inquire as to what you are doing, Master Bruce?"

"Looking for a suspect in tonight's killing."

"But you just said the Joker..."

"The Joker is still locked up at Arkham. I saw him. He killed them, but he couldn't have. He was in his cell all night. Dr. Borders attests to it." Bruce's fingers rested lightly upon the keyboard. "In short, we have a copycat in our midst and I want to stop him before he can carry on with the Joker's warped tradition."

Alfred nodded solemnly, "I quite agree, sir." He refilled the cup and turned to leave. "I shall express your condolences to the family, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred," then he paused. "No, Alfred, I'll do it. It's the least I can do for them."

Iotus Baxter was once called the wealthiest man in the world and his taste for excess would certainly make a firm believer of the doubtful. While Bruce Wayne was well known for his charity balls, his worthy causes, Iotus Baxter was known for his ribald escapades which teetered on the edge of debauchery. If there was a wild party to be had, a fracas that necessitated police involvement, a rumormonger's field day, it was one of Iotus Baxter's 'little get togethers'.

For a long time, Iotus had tried to get Wayne to one of his parties, tried to break through the man's steel control to find what fetishes, what nasty little habits hid beneath the surface, but Wayne stayed away.

"Not this time," Iotus announced as he dropped the last invitation onto the silver tray that his butler held. "This time Wayne will have to come." Baxter had gone to great lengths to discover Wayne's pet charity, to wrangle his way into the group and talk them into having a charity wing-ding at his expansive and isolated mansion. To their credit, the organization wasn't crazy about the idea, they had also heard of Baxter's reputation, but money was always necessary in their line of work and Wayne was only one man, he could only do so much.

"Yes, sir," the butler murmured, obviously uninterested. He turned to walk away, pausing at his master's voice.

"Make sure you personally hand Wayne's butler his invitation."

"Yes, sir," the butler nodded and hurriedly left before his employer could come up with any other orders. Iotus Baxter sipped his Napoleon brandy and leaned back in the leather chair, picking up a stock report from Wayne's own company. He laughed and tossed the booklet over onto his desk, looking out at the Gotham twilight. Yes, he had that little millionaire snob right where he wanted him.

At the sharp stab of pain, he jumped out of the chair and looked around, his hand reflexively slapping the back of his neck. At the wet feeling, he brought his hand to the light and made a face at the tangle of crushed legs, blood and something green that he didn't really want to think about.

A half-strangle cry of disgust angled its way out of his throat as he wiped the mess off onto the think shag carpet. Mason should know better than to let bugs into his house - God, how he hated them! Iotus stared down at the smear for a moment longer, then walked over to his brandy decanter.

His hand had nearly reached the top of the cut crystal vessel when he saw the spider, two of its eight legs waving in his direction as if gesturing hello to him.

Jesus, Iotus cursed, brushing the insect from its perch with a first edition Gutenberg bible and crushing it beneath the leather cover. Mason was really losing it. Maybe it was time to consider a new butler.

He picked up the decanter and walked back to his chair, reaching for his glass. With a second grunt of disgust, he dumped the amber fluid and its drowned spider from the glass. This was getting to be too much. Whether it was the anger he felt or just too much excitement over the impending party, he felt light-headed, slightly dizzy.

Enough of this, he left the decanter corked and walked from the room, stepping on at least three more Daddy Long Legs as he did. He pulled the heavy oak doors closed behind him, figuring he'd shut it and its contents in for the night. Mason would be dealt with tomorrow.

With a sigh, Iotus started for the stairs and tripped over something in the hallway. The overhead lights were off and shadows gulped up great quantities of the area, hiding them from view.

Iotus was about to step over the obstacle, dismissing it as just one more of his numerous priceless objects d' art when he saw the silver tray as it caught scant traces of light, the cream envelopes spilled over the white-and-black tiled floor. But that meant...

Iotus knelt, his hand coming to rest on the back of his butler. Mason obviously wasn't going to mind being dismissed from his job half as much as Iotus Baxter had originally thought.

A half familiar jolt of pain ran through his hand, and through a haze, Baxter saw the spider his fingers. He shook the hand and the spider tumbled to the floor. Suddenly, Iotus was too tired to think of anything except resting. Mason certainly was in no condition to protest his own resting place and Iotus struggled to his feet, getting as far as his staircase before collapsing onto the steps. His last conscious thought in the world was that of someone laughing.

Indeed, from his bird's eye view, the Joker liked very much what he saw. The sight of the bulbous, stinky rich old coot staggering around like a drunk was too much merriment for the Joker to handle. He leaned a purple-gloved hand against an original Rembrandt for support and rubbed at his aching ribs with the other hand. Bless his little helpers for the work they'd done - they were better than humans. They didn't complain about their working conditions, long hours or scant pay.

Still weak from laughter, the Joker wandered down the wide, carpeted staircase and looked down upon the grinning body of Iotus Baxter. All about it, spiders scrambled, biting the unresponsive flesh, fighting among themselves.

The Joker pulled a vial from his jacket and began to recollect his eight-legged henchmen. It wouldn't do to have too many of his little modified friends running around when the Batman showed up.

At the thought, the Joker began to laugh again, laughing at the memory of how Batman's face looked when he realized he'd been bested. God, he loved his work. And he began to sing softly to himself as he went about his task, replacing the word 'spiders' for 'clowns' as he sang.

CHAPTER THREE

Wearing a well-tailored, black three-piece suit, Bruce Wayne stood before the closed caskets of his friends. The mortician had been unable to remove the hideous grins from their faces without considerable effort and the Hollisters' children had decided upon closed caskets instead.

He hated funerals, they brought back too many feelings, feelings of guilt and betrayal, feelings that, even after all these years, he didn't know how to deal with. Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over at the concerned face of Commissioner Gordon.

"You holding up all right, Bruce?"

Bruce nodded, knowing that Gordon was studying his too tired face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He was prone to insomnia as it was and sleep had been a precious scarcity since the Hollisters' death. Bruce had read through dozens of files, searching for something that would give away the Hollisters' murderer to him. And what did he have to show for all his work? A headache, and a pile of dead end leads.

Bruce was barely conscious of Gordon's gentle hand as it guided him away from the caskets and to a convenient chair.

"It looks to me as through you're more shaken up than the kids." True, the three Hollister children did seem in unaccountable good spirits to the untrained eye, but Bruce could see through the facade to the sadness behind the smiles. They were doing their best to carrying out their parents' last wishes, that the funeral be a happy affair and that their passing not be mourned, but celebrated. Typical of Winston.

"It's just the heat, Jim, nothing to worry about," Bruce murmured, sitting down and doing his best to convince the long-time family friend of his wellness. "I haven't been sleeping too well lately."

"Nobody has," Gordon agreed. "And this thing sticks in my craw sideways. We've run down a dozen leads, looked up as many suspects and still don't have a clue. Not even the Batman can help."

"I'm sure he's doing all he can, Jim. You know how pig-headed stubborn he is."

"Dedicated, son," Gordon murmured, with a half-smile, automatically defending the masked crime fighter. "Down town we like to call him dedicated."

"You know him better than I do," Bruce conceded, wearily leaning forward in his chair a moment before again standing. "I think I'm ready to call it a day, Jim, if you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," Gordon responding, watching Bruce's face, for what the millionaire didn't know. He wasn't waiting though. He patted Gordon on the back and walked over to where the three Hollister children sat.

"Are you leaving, Bruce?" Winston Jr. was his age, but looked considerably older as did the much younger Marshall Time had not aged either man kindly.

"I thought it wise before I collapse on someone," Bruce said, holding out a hand. "This heat is making me crazy."

"You've always been crazy, Bruce, according to Daddy," June Hollister's voice caught on the last word and Bruce could see how hard it was for her to keep the tears back. She had been more fortunate that her brothers as far as aging went, but the death of her parents made her look an old woman.

Winston Jr. took her hand, "It's okay, June." Then to Wayne, "She's right, you know."

Bruce nodded with a slight smile. "I guess we all are to some small degree. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

"You've already done so much for both us and them, Bruce," Marshall said, rising and holding a hand out. "Thanks, from all parties concerned."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce watched for anyone that might look out of place, might linger too long at the casket, and might smile once too often. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, if you ignored the fact that Dr. Borders was one of the attending mourners.

"You're welcome," Bruce murmured, then turned to Winston Jr. "Did your father know Dr. Borders?"

"Mom did, actually," he said, looking a little sheepish. "This isn't exactly the time to air dirty laundry."

"We can trust Bruce, Winny," June interrupted. "Mom was seeing him for a little while a few months ago. She was having a few problems with things."

"I see," Bruce murmured, looking down at his hands. "I didn't realize, I'm sorry." They exchanged a few more courtesies before Bruce felt comfortable enough to head for the door and blessed escape.

He walked from the funeral home into the Gotham twilight. Usually this was the best time of day for him, for soon he'd be able to shake his identity as Bruce Wayne and prowl the night, making some small dent in the multitudes of criminals that plagued the streets of his beloved city. God help the filth he stumbled across tonight.

Ahead, he could see his Ferrari, parked where he'd left it, but with a hood ornament that definitely hadn't been there before. From the distance, Bruce could make out a familiar profile and he quickened his steps.

"You go around sitting on every Ferrari you can find, lady," he asked, purposefully sounding gruff. The woman jumped, startled, and began to stammer out an apology before realizing who the speaker was.

"Bruce!" Vicki Vale dropped the shoulder camera bag and put her hands on her hips, doing her best to look annoyed. "Where do you get off scaring me like that?"

"Where do you get off parking yourself on the hood of my car," Bruce responding, matching her tone, then smiling and gathering her into a warm embrace. Lovers? Not anymore, but still close friends and Bruce had to admit that, for a little while, they had shown Gotham how a torrid love affair was done. "What are you doing in this part of city? Isn't this a bit too uptown for you human interest types?"

Vicki pulled back, too hot to maintain continued contact. Sweat made her white cotton dress cling to her and Bruce liked what he saw. "Not my usual dives, I know, but Allie is doing a story on the Hollister murder and I came along to take pictures." At Wayne's disapproving look, she decided upon a change of topics. "So, why are you here and driving something as conspicuous as a red Ferrari? I thought you were a more low-keyed multi-millionaire."

"Alfred has the Porsche..."

"That is a thought that boggles the mind," Vicki interrupted, laughing. Bruce smiled in response. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"The Hollister's were good friends of mine," Bruce admitted, shoving his hand in his pants pockets and looking very much like someone who'd been caught in the cookie jar. "I just came to say good bye," he added softly.

"Oh," Vicki started, dropping her gaze to the sidewalk. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"I know," Bruce said, nodding. "So, how have you been?"

"Hot, like everyone else." She paused and reached up to wipe sweat from Bruce's brow, the movement becoming a caress. "You too?"

"Me too. Even the manor is hot."

Vicki brushed back a handful of hair from her eyes and smiled, "Not as hot as it used to be."

Bruce laughed for the first time in days, enjoying the feeling of being so comfortable with someone. "You're certainly right about that." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a set of keys. "Feel like some dinner or will Allie miss you?"

"I'm starving," Vicki answered, looking around for the absent Knox. "Still, I should hang around..." She broke off and grinned widely at the dark-haired man. "No pun intended."

"I wouldn't believe that under oath." Bruce rounded the car and unlocked the door. He climbed in and started the engine while Vicki continued to scan the immediate area. Bruce leaned across the front seat and opened the passenger door. "You comin?" he asked, finally, expectantly.

Vicki bit her lip and then nodded decisively. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"Where to," he asked as he pulled off his jacket and started to work on his tie.

"Any place with air conditioning," Vicki instructed, leaning back in the seat and fanning herself.

Bruce settled upon a Mexican restaurant not too far from the funeral home.

Yet, despite the coolness of the air conditioning, the frostiness of the margaritas and Vicki's skillful conversation, Bruce couldn't keep his mind from drifting back to the Hollisters.

He didn't realize it was so noticeable until a set of fingers appeared in front of his nose and snapped twice. He sat back, shaken from his reverie by Vicki.

"Earth to Bruce, Earth to Bruce, is anyone in there?"

"Sorry, Vicki," Bruce said, apologetically, and he began to toy with the plastic drink straw.

"What's happening in there?" She reached out and tapped his forehead lightly. I can practically hear the gears turning."

Can't get Winston and Millie off my mind," Bruce admitted finally, tying the red plastic into a knot and watched as it untied itself. "I'm no closer now than I was three days ago."

"Let it go."

"I can't. You know that."

"I mean it, Bruce," Vicki dipped a tortilla chip into the guacamole and bit into it. She chewed for a moment, “You should forget about it. Let it rest for a while. Sometimes you look at something so long and so hard that you can't see it anymore. Back off and give it some breathing space. The Hollisters are dead. I'm sure they wouldn't mind the delay. Get a little rest at least. You look like you're about to drop."

Bruce studied her, seriousness and sleeplessness darkening his face, making him look much older than his years. Sheepishly, a smile came to his lips and he nodded. "You're right," he admitted, re-knotting his straw. "You know how single minded I get."

"More than anyone else in the world," Vicki said, sipping her margarita, still watching him.

Bruce turned his attention for a moment to a tortilla chip that he didn't really want, chewing it slowly, then murmured, "So, how have you been, Vicki? Have you been seeing anyone?"

"Off and on, I guess," Vicki answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Mostly I've been concentrating on trying to find some new direction with my work. I think I'm getting a little stale with the Gotham Globe. Maybe I need to travel."

"Why don't you? If you need a grant, I'll be happy to fund you."

"Bruce, you're sweet. It's not that. I just...I feel tied to the city now. I can't explain it."

"You don't have to, not to me. I was born here, I'll die here."

"That scares me too."

Bruce reached out, took her hand and kissed her fingers before enveloping it with his own. "It doesn't need to. I have Alfred and Leslie to worry about me. You don't have to waste your time."

"Don't I?" The question was wistful.

"No, you don't. I'll be fine...really." He pulled a pair of glasses from a pocket and began to study the menu, temporarily closing that line of conversation.

They emerged from the restaurant much later having lingered over a second drink.

"You...ah...got plans for the night," Vicki asked, automatically scanning the skies, but the low cumulus clouds that had built during the afternoon revealed nothing.

"I did, but I can't seem to remember what it was." He pulled her to him and kissed her, hungrily. Vicki, for her part, urged him on, returning the kiss with a matched passion. He moved his lips from her mouth to her throat, then he pulled away from her, muttering a ragged, barely audible, "Damnit."

"Bruce, what's wrong?" Vicki looked at his flush face, then at the sky. It was the bat signal, reflecting on the low clouds that were so much a part of the Gotham night sky.

"Vicki, I'm sorry. I have to go."

"I know." It had been the Batman who had driven a wedge between their relationship. At first, there had been anger and frustration on Vicki's part, now just resignation. "Be careful," she murmured, hugging him as if it could offer some additional protection.

"I always am. Can I take you home?"

"No, I'll get a cab."

"This is a nice neighborhood, but not that nice. Jim can wait a few minute. Where can I take you?"

Not surprisingly, they were headed in the same direction.

CHAPTER FOUR

Commissioner Gordon watched as the ambulance attendant zipped the last body bag closed. Gordon didn't feel the same sense of remorse with this death as he had the Hollisters. Of course, the fact that he didn't care much for Iotus Baxter while he was alive might have something to do with it. Baxter was a man who had abused his wealth and the people around him, playing ugly, nasty little games and using his money to escape the consequences.

The sound of an approaching car drew Gordon away from the bodies and to the open door of the mansion. He watched as an impressive black car pulled up among the many cruisers, dwarfing them with its size and power. The canopy slid back and a familiar figure in black leapt gracefully from within its confines, cape swirling.

_Who are you?_ Gordon asked himself as the crowd of TV and newspaper reporters fell back, away from the figure. _What makes you hide behind that mask? And what makes me think I know you?_

Only one person stepped forward, Vicki Vale. The Batman had rescued her from the Joker once before and since then, she'd known no fear of the man. She lifted the camera for a shot, oblivious to the awe that froze her fellow journalists in their tracks. For once, even that pest Knox was silent. For his part, Batman either didn't notice or didn't care

He entered the mansion and closed the door behind him before murmuring, "Another one, Jim?"

"Same MO, too." Gordon unzipped the body bag to reveal Baxter's face. Somehow, it didn't look quite as hideous now. Batman knelt beside the unmoved body, eyes scanning the area, while Gordon kept a respectful distance - there was just something that made people keep their distance from him.

"Was anything missing?"

"Yes, a replica of de Vinci's _Mother and Child_ , not particularly valuable when you consider how many originals Baxter had, an entire vault full."

"Most of these millionaires do." Batman continued to examine the body, pulling aside garments, studying every nook and cranny. "What about motive? Who would want Baxter dead?"

"Who wouldn't? You know his reputation as well as anyone," Gordon said, hoping that that was the case. "There are probably a dozen of his former victims, jilted lovers, vengeful ex-employees that would love to have taken him out. Looks like the Joker beat them to it."

"The Joker can't be behind this," Batman paused as he uncovered a crushed Daddy Long Legs from beneath an envelope. Appropriately enough, the envelope bore the name of 'Bruce Wayne'. This was too coincidental. It was time to concentrate his attention from finding a killer to finding the method. "Have the autopsy reports come back yet?"

"Cause of death was an unknown poison."

Batman had begun to examine the area where the butler had fallen, retrieving the scattered envelopes as he did and handing them to Gordon.

"Looks like Baxter was planning another one of his shin-digs," commented Gordon as he read the names off the backs. "He's invited most of Gotham's elite to this one, including Wayne."

"If this is a random killing of millionaires," Batman said, changing the subject, mildly annoyed that he found no more spiders. "Your friend Wayne will be on Joker's list. He and the Joker have tangled before." There was slight emphasis on 'your'. It was a well-known fact that the two men didn't care much for one another, but neither did Bruce like Iotus Baxter, but that didn't keep him from pestering him at every opportunity with invitations to his little parties.

"I'll mention it to him the next time we talk. He might want to arrange some protection," Gordon murmured as he fumbled through a pocket for a match.

Batman's response was inaudible as he rose, swept his cape back off his shoulders and headed for the door. "I'll be in touch." Then he was gone, leaving Gordon no closer to an answer than before.

Upon his return to the Batcave, Batman divested himself of his costume and crawled back into the guise of Bruce Wayne before placing the remains of one of the Daddy Long legs on a glass microscope slide and studying it until his neck and eyes ached. With a care born from thousands of hours of lab work, he was able to extract a small amount of the poison from the specimens he'd previously collected. He was sure the coroner would concur with him - it was the spiders' venom that had killed the victims, but how it was being delivered and why it was being mixed with Joker venom was still just a guess at this point.

Bruce sat back from the microscope and rubbed his eyes wearily. Killer or not, he was going to have to succumb to a few hours of sleep. To go on like this would be to court real disaster. He'd be too exhausted to move when he had to. 

He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, then both shoulders until they popped. He rose and climbed down from the platform to another part of the cave where a narrow cot was set up. Still fully clothed, he laid down and stared up towards the ceiling of the cave. He could hear dripping water, faint squeaks, and the rustling of wings. Somehow it soothed him. Yes, he thought as he drifted off, that was a bat's lullaby.

It was a dark, but warm night and Dad's idea to walk a bit after the movie seemed a good one, at least initially. Even though he was nearly a man to his own way of thinking, Bruce still enjoyed holding his mother's hand, knowing that she was close by, just in case. Even though Dad demanded a lot from him, Bruce idolized his father and reveled in the time they spent together. So much was about to change and Bruce could do nothing about it except watch over and over and over.

Leslie knelt in front of him, stroking his hair, murmuring to him, "It's time to come with me, Bruce, your parents don't need you anymore. When he looked back, it was no longer his parents laying there, but the Hollister's. That meant his folks were alive... didn't it?

Bruce frantically searched the crowd, resisting being led away, but the people had all turned into giant spiders. With a start, he realized they intended to kill him and rip his throat out with those massive jaws... he could feel their legs upon him. He struck out, beating his tiny fists against the furry bodies, determined to go down with a fight. Even that determination didn't prepare him for the pain as a set of mandibles sunk into his throat.

Bruce sat straight up on the cot, a hand at his throat, his eyes unseeing. He sunk back down against the sweat-soak pillow and breathed the cold damp cave air deeply. It would be nice if, just once, he could wake up like a normal person, he thought, then smiling sardonically. Normal? Him? The only way he'd see normal would be by looking it up in the dictionary.

"Master Bruce?" came the echoing call from Alfred.

"Here, Alfred," Bruce answered, unmoving, the events of the dream playing themselves over in his head, his brow furrowing as he attempted to interpret the spider aspect of the dream. Obviously, his subconscious was playing with something that he still couldn't grasp awake.

Alfred turned the corner, stopping at the sight of his employer stretched out on the cot. "I didn't mean to wake you, sir."

"You didn't, Alfred, I did." He sat up. "What's going on?"

"The heat wave has broken. There is a substantial thundershower occurring and I wanted you to be prepared in case of an outage. Also, there was a call from Commissioner Gordon. He seems to feel that you are the next target in this recent rash of killings."

"I suggested it to him, thank you," Bruce said, glancing at his watch. It didn't seem possible that he'd slept for four hours; it had been only a moment ago that he'd laid down. The sleep had helped, so would a shower, he brought his hand up and rubbed his jaw, and a shave.

Somehow, the vision of the Daddy Long Legs jaws caught in his mind, but he didn't know why. Finally he glanced over at the silver-haired butler and asked, "Alfred, you're familiar with the flora and fauna around Wayne Manor, aren't you?"

"Not as much as the gardener, I fear. I try to content myself with the workings within the Manor. Mr. Eddison would be the person to talk to about the grounds."

"Would you bring him to my study in half an hour? I have some questions for him."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce dropped his head for a moment in thought and then it sprung back up. "And, Alfred, try not to alarm him too much."

"Of course, sir. I shall instill as little fear as possible."

Keith Eddison was a man from humble beginnings. His father had taught him the ways of plants, then abruptly died, leaving behind a lawn business which had done moderately well until Keith had soured of the business world and its 9-5 demands. It had been at that rather advantageous moment that Bruce Wayne had come into his life. The millionaire had one of the largest estate in Gotham and that's where Keith had come in. Wayne, or rather, Wayne's butler had heard of him through a former client and hired him as a full time gardener. Very few demands were upon the man as long as the grounds were in order. What was planted where or what was tended next was left up to Keith. He kept the hours he wanted and with the budget allotted him, Keith could have easily kept seven estates up and maybe that had been the problem. Perhaps he'd done too much, or maybe too little or maybe Mr. Wayne just didn't care for something, like his border petunias or his recent rock garden addition.

Keith Eddison didn't know what Wayne wanted and that worried him. He waited in the study and nervously finger-combed his rain damp hair, running over the events of the past few days and wishing he was fishing instead. He hadn't seen his employer recently, but that wasn't new. He'd only seen Wayne fleetingly over the years he'd worked there. Once he'd been pruning rose bushes and had watched Wayne topple a good size tree with a series of well-placed karate kicks. It was just after Wayne had returned from several years abroad and the event had left a lasting impression upon the gardener. He knew that whatever happened, he didn't want that man mad at him.

To kill time as he waited, Eddison began to glance at the spines of the books that lined all four walls of the study. Jez, he swore to himself, there had to be just about every book known to man here. Gotham Library could open a branch off here.

" _Dangerous Properties of Industrial Materials, Experiments in Organic and Biochemistry, Nature and Nurture of Behavior, Desert Survival, Aviation Guidebook._ Jez, talk about light reading," Eddison said, shaking his head.

"Do you read much, Mr. Eddison?" asked a soft voice from the doorway and Keith spun. Wayne had entered silently as the gardener had been studying the book titles. From outward appearances, the man didn't seem much of a threat. Bruce Wayne wasn't terribly large, but when he spoke, there was an air of authority that commanded both respect and compliance. And, Eddison remembered that tree and the dozen other stories he'd heard about the Manor's master, his sometimes hair-trigger temper and, to the other extreme, his incredibly generous nature.

"I try to when I have time," Eddison stammered as the man approached and offered his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne...finally." He grasped his employer's hand in a firm handshake, knowing that you could tell about character from a handshake. For his part, Wayne's gave Eddison the impression that the millionaire didn't had much need for a nutcracker. It was something akin to shaking the hand of a statue, hard, cold and very firm.

"And I you, Mr. Eddison...finally," Wayne said as he released the hand and continued to walk to a far wall. "I think you would find these of more interest to you." He indicated the books. "I don't know much about gardening, but my mother did. She... she established the rose garden on the west side of the Manor. If you'd like to borrow any of the books, let Alfred know. I'm sure you could find something of more interest here than rocket physics and aerodynamics, although both have their own particular charm."

"I appreciate the offer, but that's not why you brought me here," Keith said, clenching his hands behind his back and trying to look as humble as possible. Wayne half-turned to him and smiled.

"You're very perceptive, Mr. Eddison, it's not. You've worked for me for..." Wayne hesitated, obviously searching for a figure that wasn't immediate.

"Six years," Keith said helpfully.

"Six years." Again, Wayne smiled. "You know the grounds around the Manor better than anyone."

"Except possibly you."

"Definitely better than me. I get lost easily, even in the Manor. I can recite the Elements chart and compute pi out to the twentieth place, but don't ask me to find my own bedroom." Wayne began to study the cover of a book he'd pulled from the shelves.

Keith started to laugh until he realized the man wasn't joking and he sobered. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"What do you know about insects?"

"About as much as any gardener, I guess. Enough to know they're a pain in the as...backside. Any bug in particular?"

"Arachnids. More specifically, what do you know about Daddy Long Legs?"

This was a weird question, but Keith had heard stories about Wayne's 'strangeness'. Guess that's what came when you lost your parents early on and lived in a big empty house with just servants for family. He searched his memory for anything specific. "Umm, they're members of arachnid, their bodies are divided into two main parts as opposed to the insect's three. They eat a variety of insects that are harmful to plants."

"Are they harmful to people?"

"Funny thing about that," Keith said, a little more confident now that he was on familiar ground and knowing that Wayne was truly interested. "Technically, the Daddy Long Legs is the most poisonous spider known to man, much worse than a Black Widow or Brown Recluse. Just a drop of its venom could easily kill either of us. They are really vicious and aggressive hunters, ask any ant. However, the spider's jaws are too weak and its mouth too small to puncture a man's skin."

Wayne had been listening intently to the gardener and his head jerked as Eddison mentioned jaws. "If the spider was bigger, could it pose a threat?"

"I don't think so. A standard size Daddy Long Legs can take out something the size of an ant, another spider maybe. It would have to be the size of a mouse or small rat before it was really a threat to a human."

"Thank you, Mr. Eddison," Wayne murmured, more lost in thought than anything thing else, his fingers tracing the rough leather spine of the book.

Keith abruptly realized he was being dismissed and he nodded. "Ah, yes, sir, you're quite welcome."

"By the way, Mr. Eddison, keep up the good work. The grounds have never looked better." The comment was made softly, barely audible, but to Keith Eddison, it was a shout from a mountain top.

"Yes, sir," he answered proudly and walked from the room. Behind him, Bruce allowed himself another smile and walked over to his desk to sit. Propping his feet up on the mahogany top, he leaned back in the chair and began to chew on a bottom lip in thought. By his reckoning, it was time to pay another more surreptitious visit to Dr. Borders.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Joker stood in the humid night air and studied the massive black outline of Wayne Manor. This was as close as he'd ever been to the place and he knew it would be foolhardy to just plow across the lawns, jimmy open a window and surprise Wayne in his jammies. 

In fact, in all of his years, first as a normal-type person and now as the Clown Prince of Crime, as he liked to think of himself, the Joker had never heard of the Wayne Manor being burgled, or even broken into. That fact warned the Joker of a sophisticated alarm system and a helluva lot more than meets the eye. Of course, that was the same with Wayne himself. The Joker had put a bullet into his heart at point blank range and still the man lived. None of the Joker's other victims made that claim. Obviously, both Wayne and his house were cut from the same pattern.

From a pocket, the Joker dug out a mauve handkerchief and a long silver tube. Mopping his sweating brow, he brought the tube to his lips and blew. Immediately, a chorus of barks answered him back, but they were distant, and, he could tell, contained.

This was very peculiar, Joker decided, as he gingerly touched the black wrought-iron fence that surrounded the grounds. No jolt of electricity slammed through his arm and the Joker sunk down onto damp grass to ponder the problem. How did Wayne manage to keep people like him out?

"No dogs, no alarms, no guard towers, who is this guy kidding?" he asked as a bat fluttered by, intent on its evening pursuits. For its part, the bat remained silent, remembering to swerve at the last moment to avoid the surveillance camera that was mounted in the branches of the tree as it silently went about its business of taping the Joker's pondering.

Alfred was shocked when he looked up and saw the Joker's face smiling back at him. He'd gone down into the Batcave to retrieve a largely untouched dinner tray and just happened to look up at the monitors. Crouched beside the fence, obviously lost in thought, was the very man who couldn't be there. The very man who was currently driving Mr. Wayne out of his mind with frustration.

For a moment, Alfred was tempted to try and contact his employer directly, but that might not only prove inconvenient, but deadly, should the man be otherwise engaged. Instead, Alfred sat down and studied the expanse of computer keyboards, buttons, switches, and knobs before finally settling upon one.

He typed the message in and hit the 'send' button. If his memory had served him correctly, there would be a very interesting little missive waiting for the Batman when he returned to his vehicle.

That accomplished, he stood and went to a nearby phone. It took just a moment to dial up the police and report an intruder on the grounds, neglecting, of course, to mention exactly who the intruder was. After all, he was known for his discretion.

Breaking into Arkham Asylum was easier than he thought it would be, Batman decided as he jimmied the window to Borders' office. Of course, it was the sort of place that you wired to keep people from breaking out of, not into. The alarm system was almost childish in its simplicity.

He landed softly and glanced about the room for a long moment, trying to decide where best to start his search. He paused at Borders' desk, routinely scanning the paperwork on top of it. There was nothing out of place there, just the usual mass of paperwork that seemed to clutter up any desk of importance. Among the bulletins, files and notes was a photo of Borders' wife and family.

Batman picked it up and stared at the happy faces for a long moment, feeling a vague ache in his gut from a life refused him. Still, it had been his decision to make and he returned the photo to its place with a definite hand.

There was a noise at the door and Batman spun. No immediate avenue of escape presented itself, so when in doubt, go up. Not matter what happened, people just never seemed to bother to look in that direction. The Batrope was in his hand before he'd even made the conscious decision to use it. It was this instinct that had kept him alive this long.

"See, Doc," the guard was saying as he opened the door and turned on the light. "It's just your nerves getting bad. There's no one in your office. Maybe you need a vacation. You know, join your wife and kids."

"I'll thank you to keep your petty analyzing to yourself," Borders snapped as he stared into the room. The guard, rebuffed, backed away, leaving the man alone.

From his perch against the ceiling, Batman watched, but remain unmoving. He could easily hold this pose for another ten minutes before giving into muscle fatigue

"Are you here?" Borders asked softly. Batman decided he wasn't be addressed and remained silent. But if Borders wasn't talking to him, then who? It was a question that bothered Batman long after Borders had shut off the lights and left the room. Curiousier and curiousier, he thought as he dropped from the ceiling and slipped back out the window.

He perched in the trees for nearly a half an hour until Borders came out of the building and headed for his car. For his part, the doctor seemed extraordinarily nervous, constantly glancing back over his shoulder. Batman's eyes narrowed at the action. There was definitely something wrong with this picture.

Batman headed back to the hidden Batmobile and climbed inside. The afternoon storm hadn't done much to relieve the heat of the day; instead it seemed to amplify the humidity. Batman felt like someone had dumped itching powder inside his suit - just what he needed now, a case of heat rash. That thought vanished when he saw the red light flashing.

The canopy slid shut overhead and Batman instinctively ducked his head as it passed within a fraction of an inch from his cowl's horns. You only had to get them caught once to forever remember that you did not sit tall in the Batmobile's saddle.

With a movement made fluid by much practice, Batman punched a code into the car's computer and waited for the message to appear upon the screen. He was pleased that Alfred had indeed retained the training Bruce has casually offered one afternoon.

Suddenly, the car was claustrophobic and his chest felt like it was going to explode. The Joker? At the Manor? He'd unwittingly been was right - Wayne, and whoever else got into the way, was the next target.

Furious, Batman climbed from the car and stormed up to the front door of Arkham. The guard stationed there was smart enough not to offer any resistance when he opened the door. Batman practically ran to the maximum security wing before coming to the Joker's cell. The guard was hard pressed to keep up with the man in black and arrived a moment lately, puffing and holding his chest.

"The key? Where is the key?" Batman demanded.

"Don't have one," managed the guard weakly. He found himself lifted by his shirt front, his feet dangling a good six inches above the floor.

"Where is the key?" When it was obvious from the stammering and mumbling that the guard was of no further use, he was casually tossed aside to land in a crumbled pile upon the floor - too shocked and surprised to move, but otherwise uninjured.

Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled out a small cartridge. He twisted the top clockwise, the bottom counter clockwise, and via a small built-in magnet, clipped it the cell door. In the scant moments that the timer allowed, Batman made sure that both he and the guard were shielded from the blast.

The explosion was small, but efficient. It did wake several of the nearby inmates, who came to their cell doors to see what all the excitement was about. All that greeted them was smoke and something black moving in it.

Batman waved a hand in front of his face to help clear some of the excessive smoke and stepped over the door. The room was empty save the furniture. There was no sign of the Joker.

He had been right; the killings had been the Joker's doing. That was small comfort when you considered the man was out casing the Manor.

Quickly, Batman went through the room, looking for any clue or hint as to what exactly the maniac was up to this time, but the cell reveal as little information as did Border's office. It was definitely time to talk to the doctor face-to-face.

He turned, hesitating for a moment at the sight of two guard positioned in front of the door. Batman straightened and regarded them for a moment before ordering, "Step aside, gentlemen, I don't want to hurt you."

"I suggest you stay right where you are. Breaking into a cell for the purpose of aiding a criminal is against the law," the taller guard said, holding his gun steady with both hands.

"Thank you, I know the law," Batman said, moving forward slowly. I also know what will happen to you and your friend if you remain in my way."

Whether it was sheer reaction, panic or intent, the guard's finger twitched on the trigger and a bullet caught Batman point blank in the chest. The impact knocked him off his feet and stunned him for a moment. Yet, it would take more than a bullet to stop the Batman - he'd made sure of that. He was back on his feet and moving before the two guards could react to the shooting.

Neither man were very physically threatening, at least to him, nor it took Batman scant seconds to deposit them, unconscious, upon the floor beside the first guard, who had remained motionless for the entire display.

"I stayed here," he pointed out to the black-clad figure.

"You're smarter than your friends. Tell your boss you deserve a raise," Batman murmured as he turned to walk away. "And tell Commissioner Gordon that the Joker is out and at large."

"Yes, sir."

Batman didn't look to see but he had the strange feeling that the man saluted.

CHAPTER SIX

Finding Dr. Border's house was as easy as looking up his address in the phone book and punching the coordinates into the navigation computer of the Batmobile.

The long sleek car wove its way through the streets of Gotham and into the boroughs, barely needing to be driven at all. It gave Batman a chance to sit back and think - to contemplate what he was going to do next. Capturing the Joker wasn't as easy as it sounded. The man was clever, devious, and as slippery as mercury. No matter how many times Batman put him away, he wormed and wiggled his way out. Not only that, but Dr. Borders was somehow involved and that bothered the Batman.

The Batmobile pulled up in front of a long ranch-style house and cut its engine.

_Must be there,_ Batman decided as the canopy slid back, allowing the cooling night air to rush in. He tilted his head back and studied the sky. It would be morning soon and the Joker would be returning to his cell, hopefully waltzing into the waiting arms of James Gordon, but somehow Batman doubted that.

A single light beckoned from the living room window, and that made Batman suspicious. Instead of heading for it, he opted to go around to the back of the house, moving quietly through the night, almost one with the darkness. There, there was a second door. He'd have preferred a window, but this would do as well.

Carefully, he tried it, not surprised to find it firmly locked. Indeed, had it not been, he would have abandoned it for something else. In his line of work, you learned to look cautiously at any easy out. It took him just a moment to pick the lock and let the door swing open of its own accord. He stood in the darkness for several long moments, listening to the night noises, and waiting for any telltale rustling or movement from within the room. When it was apparent that all was clear, he moved into the house, still alert for any hint of motion.

Keeping his cape gathered behind him, Batman edged towards the lighted front room, pulling up along the edge of a door frame to look in.

His instincts had been right; Borders was waiting for him just inside the front door, a rather nasty looking crowbar in his hands and a look of desperation on his face. A phone had been either upset or thrown into the middle of the living room. Obviously, Arkham had contacted him about his loss.

"Where is he?" Borders cried plaintively to a portrait of him and his family on the wall.

"I am here," Batman said, having come up to within a foot of the doctor. "And I think you know why."

"You murderer!" Borders screamed, charging him and waving the poker in the air.

Batman brought a gloved hand up, deflecting the blow easily. He twisted the same hand, caught the metal bar and wrenched it from the doctor's grasp. His only weapon gone, it would have been only practical for the doctor to give up the fight, but rational though was apparently not on his mind. He threw himself at the black chest plate, beating against the armor ineffectively.

Batman watched him for a moment before bringing up as fist to clip the doctor's chin. Although it had been a restrained blow, it dropped the man, unconscious, to the floor.

"All right, doctor, it's time we talked," Batman said, hefting the man up over a shoulder and heading for the door.

James Gordon sipped his iced tea and glanced over at his host, wondering, not for the first time, what exactly was going through Bruce Wayne's mind. Wayne didn't seem terribly concerned that someone as perverse and dangerous as the Joker had sighting him for murder. Indeed, the young millionaire seemed more bored than worried as he picked at one of the sandwiches Alfred provided, more intent upon tearing it apart than eating it.

"Are you sleeping any better at night?" Gordon asked, conversationally.

"As good as usual," Bruce responded, almost too quickly, and smiled faintly at the man. "Jim, I know you're concerned, but I assure you that I will be fine. Before this Joker character can even get to me, he has to get close to the Manor. Security has been tightened and I've alerted all my people. I refuse to allow your men to make me a prisoner in my own home."

_You've been a prisoner for years,_ Gordon thought as he watched the dark-haired man push his glasses back into place with a casual hand. _Ever since your parents were shot down_. Instead of pushing the point, Gordon merely nodded. "I'm sure that Batman would be glad to keep an eye on you if I asked."

"Jim, you know we don't get along. He'd do it because you asked him to, but he wouldn't like it. He doesn't like anything."

"I can't say that I understand him very well myself. Here he tells me that the Joker has found a way in and out of his cell at night, but don't do anything about it. Watch him like a hawk, but do nothing to stop him. Doesn't make sense to me. Why not confront the Joker and put him in a regular cell?"

"Maybe there's something he know you don't. Or maybe he's an egotist, Jim, and wants to do it his way and take the glory of the capture.

"I also don't understand how two men who obviously dislike each other so much end up in the same spot so often."

"Opposites attract, I guess. I haven't been able to shake him since that day he ran into me in the subway and broke my ribs. I'll be fine, Jim. I live a charmed life, you know that."

"I also know that Alfred will have your hide if you don't eat some of that sandwich instead of just playing with it. You're a little old for that, aren't you?"

Bruce looked up, smiling guiltily about being caught in the act. "Haven't had much appetite lately. Hot weather, I suppose." He made a half-hearted attempt to eat the untouched sandwich half, forcing himself to chew and swallow the unwanted mouthful.

"Bruce, you have to eat and sleep. Like the rest of us, you're human and vulnerable. Why don't you get one of your lady friends and head up north for a while?"

"Sending me into a den of sin, Jim? What would my father have said?" He clapped a friendly hand to Gordon's shoulder as the older man flustered. "I'll be fine, really."

It was pointless to argue with the man, Gordon knew that, so he drank down the rest of his iced tea and stood. "Well, as long as you so convinced, there's not much I can do. I'll see myself out. Just be careful, Bruce."

"Promise."

"And eat the rest of that sandwich," Gordon ordered over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir."

Once Gordon was into his car and headed down the driveway to the boulevard, Bruce tossed the sandwich he'd been holding down onto a china plate and wiped his hands on a linen napkin. He knew Gordon's heart was in the right spot and he felt a strong sense of responsibility both for and to the man, but there were other things at jeopardy here.

He downed the rest of his iced tea and headed for the nearest secret entrance to the Batcave. It took him just moments to slip into his costume and walk out onto the steel grating floor to survey his little underground kingdom.

From his perch upon the edge of the cot, Alfred looked up and saw his employer. Patting the shoulder of a blindfolded Borders, Alfred stood and effortlessly climbed the stairs to the upper platform where Batman stood waiting.

"How is he, Alfred?" was the softly-asked question.

"His mouth is a bruised and he's strangely despondent. He insists that you're a murderer, sir, but won't expound upon it, as least not to me."

"But I haven't murdered anyone," Batman protested quietly. "At least not recently. I'll take care of this from here, Alfred, thank you."

"Yes, sir." The butler continued up the stairs and Batman waited until the servant was safely out of sight before climbing down the stairs and walking over to the cot. He leaned over and pulled the blindfold from Borders's eyes.

The doctor jumped in surprise, but whether it was from the dark figure that bent over him or the sheer magnitude of the cave behind the figure was anyone's guess.

Black-gloved fingers wrung out a washcloth, wrapped a chunk of ice in it and handed it to the doctor. "Use that, it'll take the swelling down," Batman ordered and retreated a few steps, giving the doctor a little maneuvering space, but still watching the man constantly.

Obediently, Borders held the cloth to his mouth, studying his surroundings. He stared at something that dangled from the wall by his head, then nearly leapt from the cot when he realized it was a bat.

Involuntarily, Batman smiled and reached out, removing the bat from the wall with a gentle hand. The bat squeaked a faint protest until it was released and permitted to fly back up into the dark recesses of the cave ceiling.

"Bats are fascinating creatures, don't you agree, Doctor?" Batman asked, his voice soft and raspy.

"They're frightening," Borders complained, shuddering.

"Exactly," came the whispered response as Batman settled easily into a contoured black leather chair. "You keep insisting that I'm a murderer, Doctor. I'd like an explanation."

His answer was a catch of breath, another shudder, and then a sob. "Because you've killed them," found its way between the sobs.

"Who?" Batman asked, patiently. He could tell that Borders was close to a complete breakdown and if he was going to stop the Joker, he needed Borders sane and functioning.

"My wife... the kids... he's sure to have killed them now."

"He? The Joker?" _Good guess, Bruce_ , Batman thought as the brown/gray head bobbed in agreement. "Is that why you were cooperating with him?"

"He had them kidnapped," Borders said, obviously trying to get a grip on himself and the situation. "Said they'd all die unless I let him in and out of his cell at night. I didn't know he'd kill those people. I didn't know..." Borders ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and shuddered again, wrapping his arms around himself.

"He's the Joker. Killing is what he does best."

"And now he's killed my family." The sobs started again.

"Not necessarily," Batman said, bringing a hand up to rub the near invisible scar on his cheek. "That would be the logical action for a sane man, but we're dealing with the Joker, not a sane man." Borders's head came up and he looked hopefully. "What about the spiders, Doctor?" Batman continued.

"I don't know. He kept them someplace else. Said that I wasn't privy to that information."

"Why is he killing Gotham's millionaires?"

"Said they were the biggest challenge and that they needed to die." As far as he was concerned, they didn't deserve their lifestyle.

"No one deserves to die--" Batman interrupted, dropping his hand and rising to walk to the computers. "Except possibly him."

"That's a double standard," the doctor protested weakly, standing and following. "But one I can live with." He carefully began to pick his way across the cave's uneven floor. "What are you going to do?" he asked as Batman reached for a phone.

"Do, Doctor? Nothing and I'm going to be sure that Gordon does the same." He punched in the number without looking and gracefully eased into the high backed chair. "Gordon," he demanded softly, then he waited, obvious even to the doctor that he'd been put on hold. When Gordon came on the line, he was breathless and Batman smiled enigmatically.

"Yes?"

"Jim, is he still there?"

It only took Gordon a moment to recognize the voice and puff out an "And sleeping like a baby. He doesn't know we're onto him."

"Excellent. Make sure your men understand how important it is that he not be accosted. He's gotten his hands on Dr. Borders's family and this might turn into a hostage situation. I don't want any innocents threatened unnecessarily."

"Good lord, so that's how he did it! Now what?"

"We wait for Joker to make his move. He's obviously getting ready to hit Wayne Manor and that gives us an edge of the other murders."

"Wayne has refused protection."

"Typical. Men like him think they're immortal,” Batman said, scowling. It was interesting to be able to anonymously speak so disparagingly of himself. It was certainly one way to keep his ego in check.

"You just don't know him." Gordon automatically defended the millionaire.

"And do you, Jim?" Batman asked, then hung up the phone and looked over at the doctor. "I suggest you rest, Doctor Borders. We have a long night ahead of us."

"What about you? Shouldn't you rest, too?"

Batman shook his head slowly, his thoughts already setting to work upon the next task at hand, that to find an antitoxin to the poison of the Daddy Long Legs and the Joker Venom. He was going to need that before he could meet the Joker on his own terms. "Yes, but unfortunately, I don't have the option. Not if we're going to get through this alive."

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was something wrong, but as God as his witness, the Joker couldn't figure out what it was. Perhaps it was merely Dr. Border's calling in sick that made Joker unsettled. After all, the doctor was responsible to all of Arkham; he had no right to get sick. 

Or maybe it was the thought of his next target, Bruce Wayne, and that was putting him on edge. He put a bullet in the man's chest at point blank range and the man walked away from it. No one had ever done that to the Joker before and he didn't like it. Plus there was the rumor that Wayne and Batman were somehow financially connected. If Joker were to kill Wayne, the Batman would be out of a meal ticket and that might put an abrupt end to what Joker considered a waste of good money. Gotham certainly couldn't afford to keep Bat brain in tights. Thanks to men like the Joker, the city couldn't even see black ink, much less turn a profit. No, get rid of Wayne and Joker would have his nemesis, not to mention his creator, out of his beautiful green hair forever.

Shaking his head, the Joker sat up and reached for his turquoise, black-velvet trimmed jacket. He settled it upon his thin shoulders and looked over at his reflection in a smudged mirror. This time, he would kill Wayne and he keep a foot on the man's head until the body had stopped twitching. This time, there would be no miraculous escape for Wayne or for Bat boob.

Reaching for his silver-tipped cane, Joker checked his appearance one last time. After all, one wanted to be perfectly appointed when going to a funeral. Satisfied that he was the best looking thing that had come the pike in quite some time, Joker walked over to his door and tapped upon it.

"Time for my appointment, Flunky," he said to the guard just outside the door. For once, there was no arguments, no groaning protests, the man simply unlocked the door and permitted the villain to exit. That struck the Joker as odd, but it didn't look like he'd been the only one struck. The guard had definitely come into contact with someone's fist recently. It was about time that Flunky had been taken down a notch or two and the Joker mentally tipped his hat to the lucky Joe who'd done it.

As he'd done a thousand times before, the Joker began his walk towards Border's office, only to veer off and head for an exit, one he knew was unalarmed and safe. Border had been ever so cooperative when he learned his sweet little family was within Joker's grasp. Joker wondered what Border would say if he only knew the truth...

Jim Gordon nervously smoothed his mustache down and glanced at his watch for perhaps the fiftieth time this hour. The plainclothes that accompanied him had given up on small talk and now sat quietly, sipping coffee from a thermos cup and staring at the Wayne Manor. Even though Wayne had forbidden any direct involvement, Jim had finally gotten him to approve of a little surreptitious surveillance, and in view of importance of both potential victim and villain, Gordon decided to come along on this stake out. The Joker was not going to escape him this time.

A plain black sedan drove by away from the Manor and Gordon realized that that was the last of the servants with the exception of Alfred, but Gordon knew am army of Gotham's finest wouldn't budge him from his master's side.

"Guess it's just Wayne and his butler now, sir," the plainclothes mumbled, wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. "Are you sure we can go in closer? I'd feel a lot better if we were camped out in the driveway."

Mentally, Gordon agreed with him, but a promise was a promise. "The only way I got Bruce to agree to this at all was to promise to keep a watchful distance."

Headlights suddenly lit up the interior of the unmarked patrol car and Gordon started. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded as the car pulled up to the front door of the Manor and the driver, tall and slender, climbed out and walked casually up to knock on the carved oak door.

The plainclothes had a set of binoculars up and was staring. "Whoever she is, she's gorgeous."

With a groan intermingled with disgust and frustration, Gordon sunk back against the vinyl seat. "Of all nights, Bruce, couldn't you cooperate just once?"

At the knock, Alfred's head came up and looked over at the door curiously. Master Bruce had warned him that the Joker would be prowling around the Manor, might even try to gain access to the Manor, but to knock on the front door was just a little too aggressive to Alfred's way of thinking. Still, it would be suspicious if he didn't answer, so he settled his shoulders and brushed off the sleeves of his jacket.

He opened the door and smiled, pleasantly surprised, "Miss Vale, to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"I've got to see Bruce, Alfred. Is he below?"

"No, ma'am, he's in the weight room." Alfred hesitated and Vicki immediately picked up on it.

"What's wrong, Alfred?"

He never could keep anything from the woman, even from the very first. Quickly, without a loss for words, Alfred briefly described the situation and Vicki merely smiled, placing a confident hand on the old man's arm. "Everything will be fine, Alfred, just take me to him."

"Very well, ma'am, if you think that wise." Reluctantly, Alfred permitted her entrance into the Manor and shut the door securely behind him.

Bruce looked over as the door to the weight room opened, half-expecting it to be an anxious gentleman's gentleman, but when Alfred stepped through followed by Vicki Vale, Bruce nearly dropped the weight he was lifting.

"Vicki, what are you doing here?" he demanded, then turned to the butler, "Alfred, take her away." In Vicki's green eyes, Bruce could see concern for his less- than-healthy appearance as he lowered the weight to his chest. The truth was that he felt lousy, his joints ached, he was slightly feverish and he had cotton mouth - all reactions to one or more of the many anti-venom serums he'd tried on himself. He couldn't tell how or when the Joker would strike, so he had prepared for any event, even the idea of one of those eight-legged murderers getting into his batsuit with him made his skin crawl. With any luck, the Joker hadn't changed his venom from the last batch or the fight might be over before it started.

"Bruce, I have to talk to you," Vicki said, standing her ground as Alfred retreated back into the hall and closed the doors behind him. Vicki came to kneel beside the weight bench and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder. If she was surprised by the warmth of his body, it's didn't register in her face. "I've figured out how the Joker is delivering the venom."

"With the help of Daddy Long Legs," Bruce murmured, doing is best to ignore her hand, the intoxicating combination of her perfume, shampoo and scent. He hefted the bar up off his chest, his attention fixed on a point on the high vaulted ceiling above.

"Yes... how did you..." Vicki started, then stopped. "I forget - you're Batman, you can do anything, can't you?"

Bruce lifted the weight back onto the resting bars and half turned to face her an arm propping up the side of his head, "Except resist you." He placed a hand over hers. "Vicki, what I'm about to do is very dangerous. I've got to entice the Joker in here, to me. I've got to let him think he's won." Bruce sat up and shook his head. "I've got to let him think he's got the chance to kill me."

"No, you don't," Vicki argued, standing. "You've discovered his plot. Call Gordon and have the Joker arrested, transferred back down to the city jail. There's no reason for you to go through with this."

"The Joker has Dr. Border's wife and children as hostages. I don't even know where he's holding them. I have to lure him into the Manor and confront him, hopefully coming up with an answer before..." Bruce trailed off as he suddenly rose from the bench press and snatched a towel from a nearby resting place.

"Before what?" Vicki demanded, more than familiar with the millionaire's abrupt moves. At the silence that followed, she repeated, "Before WHAT, Bruce?"

Wayne turned back to her as he leaned into the towel and used a corner of it to wipe his face. Then he smiled slightly, a shy 'trust me' smile, "Before nothing, Vicki. Everything will be all right. "

"This is crazy, Bruce, give it up," Vicki pleaded, raking her hair back from her face nervously. Suddenly, there was a lot of extra room in the Manor that was obviously making her nervous and she looked around at the shadows.

"I've been crazy for years, Vicki," Bruce said, coming her and embracing her. "Or so I'm led to believe." He felt the woman relax in her arms and he held her closer, her head nestled against his shoulder, smiling as he felt her arms slide around his waist. "Why don't you go home now, while it's still safe?"

"I'm not going to leave now, Bruce, so you might as well stop trying." Vicki pulled away. "I'm too close to the story of the century. I might even get my second Pulitzer out of this."

"It's dangerous here. The Joker is out there somewhere on the grounds and I'm not even sure I can protect myself, much less anyone else." He used one thumb to raise her face up towards his to see only determination and resolve in her eyes. "If you won't leave, will you retire to the study with me?"

"Why there?" Vicki had obviously remembered the huge bay windows.

"To fulfill the last request of a condemned man, if nothing else," Bruce murmured, nuzzling an ear gently.

"Should I ask what you mean by that?" Vicki asked, trying to shaking herself free from the last of his embrace. Bruce felt her nervousness and released her. "I'm not a sacrificial virgin, you know."

"Better than anyone, I should think." There was that smile again, Bruce had learned early in life how to use it on people, to make them trust him, leave him alone. He'd conned Alfred into permitting him to travel unescorted to Europe with that smile. Even more, he remembered all the beds he'd gotten in and out of using that smile as he worked to achieve his reputation of Gotham's most notorious playboy. Being Batman was a tough, ugly job. He grabbed up his robe and gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

Vicki had apparently decided he meant it as a challenge and was up for it. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a defiant shake of her head and marched towards the door. Bruce was close beside her, a hand in his pocket, reaching around her for the knob. The move must have aroused suspicion in Vicki, for she turned back to face the dark-haired man, just as he brought out the capsule of gas. Mouth open, she'd taking a huge breath of it before even realizing it.

Bruce held her firmly, feeling her fight both him and the gas, but it was too much of a match for her. "Bastard," she murmured before finally crumpling against him.

"Maybe, Vicki," Bruce agreed, as he opened the door and kissed her forehead. "But I intend for you to be alive to discuss it afterwards." He hefted her with a grunt. "Vicki, I believe you've put on a little weight."

Alfred looked up as Bruce was carrying her down the last few steps. He rushed up to the pair, concerned.

"My word, Master Bruce, is she all right?"

"Just asleep, Alfred. Is everything ready in the study?"

"Yes, sir," Alfred said, indicating a monitor. If he didn't know better, Bruce would swear it was him sitting there, reading a book, enjoying just another night of leisure.

"You did an excellent job with the mannequin, Alfred, thank you," Bruce said as he deposited Vicki onto a narrow cot and pulled a thin cotton sheet over her, then caressed her face with a gentle hand. "We'll have to remember that for future use. It looks just like me."

"It is, after all, just a mask made of your face, sir." Alfred was modest. "There was no real skill involved." Bruce smiled over his shoulder as the butler and nodded.

"And Dr. Borders?"

"He's also resting comfortably in the trophy room." Alfred referred to the great expanse of cave that Batman used to house his various keepsakes and other memorabilia.

"Excellent, Alfred, thank you." Bruce walked over to a vault and turned the massive locking mechanism. As he pulled the huge steel door open, a light came on, illuminating the batsuit hidden within. He reached for the cowl, then looked over his shoulder. "Alfred, I want you to swear by all you hold sacred that you won't budge from here tonight."

The manservant was at his side, helping to hold the cape. At his silence, Bruce turned to face him, a hand on each shoulder. "Your solemn vow, Alfred, or I'll have no choice but to put you to sleep as well."

"Sir, wouldn't you think it wise to have some sort of back-up, just in case? Something unexpected might happen."

"No way. This is a solo performance, old friend." He dropped his hands and turned to strip off his pants and shirt. He sat to pull on the armored leggings and boots of the batsuit. As each piece slid into place, Bruce felt a protective cocoon build itself around him, a wall that kept him safe from the scum that he dealt with, and hopefully, a wall that would spare him the fate of the other millionaires who'd already fallen to the Joker's twisted sense of justice. Before he settled the cowl into place, he turned back to the butler who was busily folding the discarded clothes. Bruce's hands were already reaching for his utility belt, for a hidden compartment there.

"That won't be necessary, sir," Alfred found his voice, too aware of what was about to happen. "You have my word as a gentleman and your employee that reluctantly I will not leave the confines of the Batcave."

"Not even for a moment," the dark-haired man insisted.

"No, sir, not until you tell me otherwise."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, managing a faint smile for the man before reaching for a small tube of black grease paint. With a practice movement, he rub two fingers into the makeup and then over and around each eye. He wiped his fingers clean on a tissue and let the cowl fall into place. Lastly, he permitted Alfred to help him settle the cape onto his shoulders and took a deep breath, feeling safe and secure in an embryonic sac of black bullet-proof leather and steel.

Good luck, sir!" Alfred called after him as Batman stalked from the cave. If the man heard him, he gave no indication and Alfred sat heavily down at the computer console, studying the TV monitors all focused upon the private study of Bruce Wayne. "Please keep him safe," Alfred murmured to one of the hanging bats.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"The Joker's back and you're gonna be sorry," sang the white-faced criminal softly as he steadily approached his quarry. The spiders, however, were doing a lousy job of back-up, so the Joker continued, "Doo wah, doo wah, the Joker's back." 

As the first tall spires of Wayne Manor became visible against the dark, cloud-shrouded Gotham sky, he stopped singing for a moment, then resumed humming the tune to pacify for his still-protesting nerves. The last time he'd gone into something he'd felt this uncomfortable with, he had ended up taking a swim in a vat of chemicals. Still, that hadn't killed him, neither had a swan dive off the Gotham Cathedral. Jack was beginning to believe he might be as unkillable as his impending victim.

"Of course, you and I are going to see that come to an end tonight, aren't we, boys and girls?" The Joker asked the jar he carried. It might be his imagination, but he thought the activity within the glass pickle jar picked up a little. They were anxious and excited, just as he was.

The Manor seemed strangely quiet as he approached, but he preferred it that way. The fewer people his little henchmen had to do in the better. With a large crowd, there was always the risk of one victim escaping and ruining his perfect crime. The Joker settled outside the fence and again began to study the Manor. The large expanse of lawn that surrounded the place bothered him for there was no real way of approaching the house while beneath cover. Of course, it was a dark, storm-threatening night and so the Joker opted for the most egotistical of ways, he merely walked along the fence until he found an opening and crossed the lawn casually, as if he was merely a guest. If he saw the parked vehicle a few yards away, he made no indication of it. No, he was intent upon reaching the shrubbery that gathered outside various windows of the Manor.

"Jesus, there he is," swore the plainclothes and Gordon jumped at the sound. For nearly an hour, they'd been sitting quietly, except for the chirp of crickets and distant rumbles of thunder. The man was right, the Joker was passing just feet in front of them and none the wiser for it. "Guess we were right."

"Unfortunately for Bruce. I just hope he knows what he's doing," Gordon's hand found its way into his jacket pocket and around the snub-nose .22 resting there. "We're going to have to be ready to move."

"But Wayne said..."

"I don't care what he said," Gordon snapped at the man. "The Joker isn't going to kill anyone else."

"I was afraid you'd feel that way, Jim," came a soft rasp at his open car window and reflexively Gordon drew the weapon as he turned. Instantly, a black-gauntleted hand darted in to snatch the gun away from him and Gordon found himself looking at a yellow circle with a stylized bat at its center.

"Sweet Mother of..." Gordon trailed off as he relaxed. For his part, the plainclothes seemed in shock that someone could have approached the car so quietly to avoid detection. "What are you doing here?"

"The same thing as you," Batman's voice was barely audible as he stared off into the night, focusing his attention upon the shrubbery where the Joker sat hidden from view. "Wayne's too stubborn for his own good. The Joker's mine."

"But Bruce..."

"To hell with Bruce Wayne!" shot back Batman. "He was warned. He knows the risks. I'll do what I can to protect him, but I want the Joker."

There was something in his voice that made Gordon realize that the Joker might not be seen alive again should this be the case. While part of him wanting to urge the vigilante on, there was another part, a deeper part that saw its duty to his job. "I want him alive," Gordon growled, his tone matching that of the Batman's. For a moment, the near invisible eyes turned back to him, barely able to control their anger, then the cowled head nodded.

"If that's how it must be, then so be it, but I will not tolerate any interference from the police. There's too much at stake."

"You have an hour, then we'll move in and do it our way," muttered Gordon as he took back his weapon from the masked man. With any luck, the Joker wouldn't have even found Wayne by then. After all, the Manor was a big place.

"Very well, an hour," and the Batman took just a few steps back into the night, disappearing from view as easily as he'd appeared.

"How does he do that?" the plainclothes asked, still searching the dark for a hint of movement. For his part, Gordon remained silent, staring out at the darkness.

The Joker reached the cover that the hedge around the Manor afforded, set down the gym bag he had been carrying and paused to catch his breath. Every moment he expected the shrill protest of a siren, the menacing growl of a watch dog, the brilliant blaze as spotlights switched on, but nothing happened. This was just too weird for words, or maybe Wayne had a death wish.

Lightning painted the horizon an electric blue and the Joker started, not at the responding rumble of thunder, but of the silhouette of a bat against the sky. He reacted instantly, swinging his cane up automatically and catching the animal as it swooped down. The metal tip came in contact and the bat gave a squeal as it dropped to the ground. Without giving it another thought, the Joker turned his attention back to the massive building that he stood beside and he froze for the second time in as many minutes.

"So that's how he's doing it," the Joker murmured as he stared up at the flashing red light on the surveillance camera that the bat had flown in front of, then he waggled his fingers in greeting. "You're good, Mr. Wayne, you're very good, but let's see how you do blind as a bat." Again, the cane was swung and hit with the camera with a gut-wrenching metallic clang.

From his seat at the computer console, Alfred sat back with a very unbutler-like grunt of disgust. He reached for a switch and flipped it up. "I am afraid that the Joker has discovered the morning room camera, sir. He'll be on the look-out for them now."

A sigh answered him and a soft voice followed, "Well, we were lucky for a while. I'll have to get in closer and track him that way. Jim has given me a whole hour to put this maniac down and it's imperative that I get to him first."

"Is there something that I might do, sir?"

"Yes, stay put. From what I've seen, he's carrying some kind of gym bag and a jar. I guarantee that it's not his workout gear in there."

"But surely, sir..."

"No arguments, Alfred." The line cut off with a finality that couldn't be argued with. Alfred stared at the switch for a moment, then stood, his aged hands unconsciously wiping the wrinkles from his pants.

He looked in upon Miss Vale, who was still sleeping peacefully upon the narrow cot. Alfred rearranged the blanket about her and smiled down upon her. He'd had such hopes that Miss Vale would be the one to settle Master Bruce down, make him give up this vigilante nonsense, but it wasn't to be. Instead, the millionaire seemed more and more intent upon pursuing his self-appointed task.

Alfred then fugitively check upon the doctor. Borders was busy pacing, smoking, sitting down and getting up to repeat the cycle. Certainly, if Alfred was any less well bred, he'd join the doctor. He'd certainly had numerous opportunities to fret while working for Master Bruce.

That accomplished, Alfred climbed back up to the suspended platform and flipped on another of the surveillance cameras. It showed a serene night, broken only by a distance display of thunder and lightning. No Joker, no Master Bruce, Alfred couldn't even see Gordon's patrol car. Suddenly, it became apparent, at least to his point of view, that his employer was going to need help with this and Alfred wasn't accomplishing that down here.

The elderly gentleman set his shoulders and began to climb purposefully back up the stairs towards the Manor.

For his part, the Joker was quite content with the ways things were going. Finding that one camera was exactly the confidence builder he needed to continue on. It also alerted him to the existence of others. Wayne wasn't so clever after all, he decided, as he set his briefcase and jar down to peer into a many-paned window. Bingo! He clapped his purple-gloved hands together in glee and looked again. In front of a roaring fire, Wayne sat, oblivious and apparently uncaring about his impending death, a snifter of brandy sat close at hand and the Joker's grin threatened to split his face in two. Now, to find a way in... He glanced around at a particularly loud peal of thunder and pulled his overcoat closer. When that storm broke, it was going to be a lulu, he decided, and that made him want to get inside even more. In a place the size of Wayne Manor, he could hide out for days. Hell, entire Army platoons could hide out in the place.

Finally, he chose a narrow oak-paneled door as his way into the darkened house. It was reluctant to open at first, but with a little force and the liberal use of a crowbar, it eventually creaked open. 

_Must be a servant entrance,_ the Joker thought as he walked through a cramped, musty smelling corridor. Certainly wasn't Wayne's way in and out of the place. The hall ended at another door, but The Joker didn't have to put down both his jar and gym bag to grapple with this one. It opened easily, silently and the Joker stepped through and directly into something. Immediately he began to struggle, trying to fight his way clear of what he thought was a curtain. Damned fine place to hang one. Wayne must be more eccentric than he thought.

The Joker scrambled clear of the material and took a few paces back from it. It wasn't a curtain, but an ornate, richly woven wall hanging. Of what, the Joker couldn't tell in the near total lack of light, but he wasn't all the interested, the truth be known. He just wanted to deliver his little package to Bruce Wayne and be off. Chances are he wouldn't be finding anything worthless in this place unless he decided to carry off the master of the Manor himself.

The Joker chuckled at his joke and turned to leave, just as a bolt of lightning hit fairly close by, bathing the room in an eerie white-blue glow. The Joker looked, saw and shrieked at what stood just in front of him, his arms spasmed and he dropped his precious load. The thin-walled jar wasn't much resistance against the parqueted black and white marble. It shattered and the stunned captives waited only seconds before making good their escape in various directions.

_Damn it,_ the Joker swore as he felled to his knees and tried to gather up the spiders as they hurried away. Of course, he didn't have anything to put them in, but if he could just keep a couple in his pocket, he could deposit them right on Wayne and that should be enough.

"See what you did," he growled at the armored figure before him. For its part, the figure, in full Samurai garb, remained silent. The Joker's eyes, now more accustomed to the darkness, could pick out a full dozen figures, all dressed in various battle armors. This place was just getting too weird for him. The Joker captured a few of the renegade spiders, wrapped them loosely in a purple silk handkerchief and stamped out as many of the rest as he could find. Now, to deal with that little rich pest...

Batman felt a little funny sneaking through his own house, but he knew better than anyone all the little nicks and crannies where someone or something could hide. It was often joked that you could hide an army platoon within the thick masonry walls of the Manor and right about now, Batman would agree. He paused, listening for any hint of noise, his eyes constantly scanning for any sign of movement other than his own, but only a serene silent greeted him. He had set his shoulders and started prowling again when he heard the crash.

The thinness of his cowl permitted the sound to reach him, but muffled it enough to prevent him from deciding which direction it had come from. That was one of the flaws in the batsuit, but Batman didn't dwell upon it. The Joker had found his way inside and, like a moth to the flame, was probably heading straight for the study. 

Good enough then, so would he. Batman turned and walked in the direction of the study, his footsteps silent against the highly polished marble floor. He passed the closed door of the armory as he did and something caused him to hesitate and look at the door. It could have been a barely audible rustle, an awareness of movement from within or that every one of his carefully honed senses was screaming a warning at him.

Cautiously, he pushed opened the heavy mahogany door and peered inside. Everything was quiet, almost too quiet. He scanned the area, moving his head slowly left to right - it was then he saw a shadow upon the floor, a shadow that shouldn't be there at all. 

Curious, he abandoned the hall and moved into the dark room, approaching the shadow with the gingerness and care of a cat stalking a butterfly, swift, silent, anxious. Lightning struck close by and the brightness gave the posed figures a bizarre realism.

He pushed the cape back off his shoulders as he knelt beside the now visible object, a broken five-gallon pickle jar. Surrounding the immediate area were several crushed spiders. That was odd, Batman thought, as he lifted one to examine closer. It was a good thing he had excellent night vision. Why would the Joker break his jar and destroy his spiders in here? If only the Samurai warrior could talk...

It was debatable whether it was a sixth sense of impending danger, the flashing on of the overhead lights or Alfred's shout that warned him, but Batman spun, still kneeling, one arm up in protection as he did. That was the only thing that kept the broadsword that the Joker was welding from decapitating him. Instead, the sharply-honed weapon skidded along the armor plating of his gauntlet and finally slicing through the material of his glove, thin steel mesh and into flesh and bone.

The pain registered, but Batman immediately shoved it into a small portion of his brain as he'd done so often before and rose, ignorant of the blood that flowed from the wound, down the glove and onto the floor as he knocked the sword from the Joker's grasp and safely out of reach. Perhaps Alfred had been right and he should have taken the edge off of all his displayed weapons, but that wasn't a point he had time to discuss at the moment.

The Joker's expression turned from one of confident triumphant to shock and fear as the Batman faced him, glacier blue eyes screaming a warning of the havoc that was to follow. It was the fear that made the Joker grab at the closest display for a weapon or some mode of protection. The German suit of armor clattered to the floor, an ineffective blockage against the approaching Dark Knight. The Joker scooped up the shield and held it in front of him, hiding behind the cast steel.

A well-placed kick slammed both the shield and the Joker back against the wall and his enemy slumped, stunned by the impact.

_This shouldn't take much longer,_ Batman thought as he smiled faintly and approached the white-skinned maniac.

The Joker was smart though, he was a man who was well equipped to deal with just about every occasion. He held out a can and twisted off the lid just before Batman reached him.

"Here! Catch, Batbreath!" A spring snake leapt out, taking the black-clad figure by momentarily surprise. It exploded into a brilliant purple cloud and Batman backed off, not sure whether he was dealing with some of the Joker's infamous concoctions or harmless smoke. Reflexively, his good hand scrambled for his utility belt and the mini-gas mask it held.

However, that brief hesitation was all the Joker needed. He reached behind his head and yanked at a huge tapestry. It collapsed upon the Batman and Joker leapt free at the last moment. Laughing wildly, he started for the door, only to be blocked by a determined Alfred.

"The game is over, Mr. Joker," Alfred muttered, trying to sound as dangerous as possible for a man of his years and position.

"Yes, I suppose it is," The Joker stopped and his shoulders slumped for a second, then his gloved hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. "But I intend to make the winning goal. Get out of my way, old man, or my little friends here will be nibbling your buns." The Joker looked into his fist and waggled his eyebrows.

"My what?" Alfred demanded, standing firm. Abruptly, the Joker threw whatever he was holding at the butler and Alfred held up his arms protectively at whatever it was. The confetti fluttered harmlessly to the floor and the Joker was out the door and into the Manor, leaving a flustered Alfred and an emerging Batman behind him.

"Are you all right, Alfred?" Batman asked as he grappled past the final yards of the dusty, heavy material.

"Quite unharmed, sir, thank you," the manservant responded, offering his handkerchief to his employer.

Batman permitted him to knot it around his hand, while talking, “Then be careful and close off this room. Tighter than that, Alfred." He gritted his teeth as the butler did as he was bid. "I suspect there are still some spiders loose in here and I don't want anyone getting bitten." He paused at the door and glanced both left and right.

Instinct told him that the Joker would still insist upon carrying out his original plan and head straight for the study. Of course, Batman had the advantage in knowing exactly where the study was and the Joker didn't, but that confidence didn't slow his speed as he ran through the halls towards the room.

He turned a final corner and saw the Joker pausing in front of the door.

"You're too late, Bat Brain," the Joker shouted, waving a purple linen handkerchief at the crime fighter. "Wayne just got himself a lap of the world's finest. I suspect he's beginning to remember all those childhood prayers he thought he'd forgotten."

"Freeze, Joker," came the demand from behind the criminal and Batman could see Gordon approaching steadily from the opposite direction, his gun out and ready. The Joker apparently decided that discretion was the better part of cowardice and disappeared back into the study, locking the heavy door behind him.

It took Batman precious seconds to kick the door in and he paused in the doorway, quickly scanning the area. An open window indicated the Joker's escape route and he headed for it.

The storm had broken and rain poured in, soaking the curtains and Oriental rug. At first, Batman thought it was the storm that was lighting up the lawn, but haphazardly realized that Alfred had turned on the floodlights. He could see the Joker running across the vast expanse of lawn, towards the fence and the safety of the surrounding woods. If he got there, he'd be able to effectively hide out, the storm removing any traceable traces of him.

Batman vaulted over the window ledge, forgetting about his injured hand until his full weight fell against it and he nearly collapsed at the resulting pain. Consciousness was a luxury he barely held onto as he landed outside the window in a clumsy heap. The rain helped a little to clear his head and he staggered to his feet, but he wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer. He stumbled through the low hedge and off in the Joker's wake.

It was apparent to him that he was never going to reach the fleeing madman at this rate, when a second figure appeared close to where the Joker was scaling the wrought iron fence. It grabbed the Joker from the wall, and with a powerhouse punch worthy of the Batman himself, knocked the villain back onto the lawn, practically at Batman's feet.

"Nobody, nobody steps on Mrs. Wayne's roses," shouted a faintly familiar voice and Batman recognized the second figure as that of Keith Eddison. The gardener launched himself at the dazed, white-faced man and landed another solid punch onto the man's chin. The fist hauled back again and Batman caught the hand gently, but firmly in his good one, regarding the pair solemnly.

"I think he's had enough."

"Do you know what seven kinds of hell I've had to go through to keep those damned things from dying?!" Eddison yelled at the Dark Knight and Batman couldn't keep from smiling. He couldn't stop the Joker, neither could Gotham's finest, but irritate the gardener and you were courting the devil himself. Sometimes there was a bit of justice in the world after all.

EPILOGUE

_Mending anything one-handed was tricky, but a steel- mesh glove was nearly impossible_ , Bruce Wayne decided, as he felt the stitches in his bandaged hand pull in protest. Still, if he was going out, he needed the glove repaired, at least until a new pair were ready.

He heard a noise behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see a now-conscious Vicki Vale storming up to where his vacant chest plate, cape, and cowl sat propped up, a camera case in her hand. From the back, it must have looked like he was wearing it, for Vicki hauled off and slapped the case against the cowl.

"You bastard! You made me miss everything! What right do you have to keep me safe?!"

Bruce started to grin and then sobered. In a gruff voice, he growled, "Hey, lady, easy on the suit! It's not like I buy off the rack, you know."

Vicki caught her breath, startled, and turned around to see a grinning Bruce Wayne watching her. She looked back at the suit and walked around it, as if just having to assure herself that both men were one and the same. Finally, she spun and walked over to the dark-haired millionaire. "You've got a helluva nerve, buddy," she hauled back the case and Bruce's bandaged hand came up reflexively to fend off the blow. When she saw the white gauze, she dropped her hand and concern took the place of the anger in her eyes. "What happened?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and nodded to his task. "Officially, Bruce Wayne got himself a couple nasty spider bites. Privately, the Joker tried to bounce a broadsword off my skull, but my hand got in the way."

"Oh, Bruce, I'm so..." Vicki started to embrace him, then suddenly backed off. Clinging to the shoulder of Bruce's tee shirt was... “Oh, God, it’s a bat. What is that doing there?" she gasped, pulling back in revulsion and staring.

Again, Bruce grinned at her and looked down at the mammal. "Why, it's a baby flying fox, Miss Vale. You might say that his mother was killed in the line of duty, so I'm taking over." He stroked the brown fur with a finger and gestured to her. "I thought you lost your fear of bats a long time ago."

"Only of you, bucko," Vicki admitted, but came closer none the less. "What's in its mouth?"

"Believe it or not, a pacifier. When a flying fox is born, it attaches itself to its mother's nipple and that's where it stays until it's weaned."

"Sounds painful for Mom," Vicki complained as Bruce returned to his mending. "So, the Joker was here then?"

"Most assuredly and now he's in a maximum security cell in uptown Gotham, nursing his bruises."

"Did you beat him up badly, I hope?" Vicki took a seat at the table, still staring at the bat. For its part, it ignored her and slept.

"Not me. I never laid a finger on him. It was my gardener. Poor Jack made the mistake of tromping on my mother's prize roses and Mr. Eddison saw red."

"What was he doing here? I thought you made everyone leave," Vicki asked, hurt that the gardener would be allowed access to something she was denied.

"It was his days off, so I just assumed he would be gone. One should never assume. Apparently, our Mr. Eddison is something of a fisherman and was out gathering night crawlers when he saw Joker taking a stroll through the rose bushes."

"But what about Dr. Borders and his family," Vicki murmured, reaching out a cautious finger to pet the bat's head. Two sleepy eyes looked out from behind a batwing blanket and blinked at her.

Bruce smiled down at the hand and kissed the back of it. "He's happily reunited with his family. The Joker had sent his wife and kids off on an all-expense paid trip to Mexico."

"What?"

"Yeah, apparently, he told them that he was a colleague and was planning a surprise birthday party for Dr. Borders there," Bruce paused to yawn. "He got a vow of silence from her and sent her off on her way. When it became obvious that she'd been duped, she tried to call him, only he was here. She came back late last night to a home coming you wouldn't believe."

"I don't believe that man! Where does he come up with this stuff?"

"I wish I knew," Bruce admitted with another yawn. "It would cut my job in half."

"Am I boring you?" Vicki asked, still petting the baby bat.

"No, it's not that. Between the lack of sleep, blood loss and the pain medication Dr. Dundee's giving me for my hand, I can barely keep my eyes open."

"So maybe I should tuck you in?" Vicki offered with a sly smile, which Bruce returned.

"I don't know, you go around sitting on my Ferrari and beating up on my batsuit. Besides, I'm a mother now. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Bruce, this is a cave full of bats, I'm sure one of them wouldn't mind babysitting, and besides, it's your reputation I'm talking about. I'd hate to have to go to press with a story about you turning down a perfectly good offer."

Bruce grinned and carefully disentangled the bat from his shirt and rose to hang it upon his cape. There were a few moments of frantic squeaking until a foot hold was established, then the baby flying fox settled back down while Bruce stroked its head with a thumb, talking softly to it.

"You make a good mother," Vicki said as she joined him. Bruce straightened and held out his good hand.

"I'm even better at something else," he promised with an arched eyebrow. Vicki took the hand and began the long climb back up to the Manor.

The End


End file.
